


Far From Home

by AllHailTheUnderDogs



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: M/M, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Season 2 Rewrite, but one that bugged the hell out of me, just a little better for a bit, like one small scene, nobody is fixed, so we're transporting s1 Diego over for a second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25743889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHailTheUnderDogs/pseuds/AllHailTheUnderDogs
Summary: The temptation to leave Klaus to his own self-destructive devices is overwhelming, to break the cycle and scrub his liquor sticky fingers away from Diego’s mind. But they’ve always been chained together through disasters and blood like a barbed wire wrapped around his heart, so he warily trudges over.---Or we quickly correct that itty bitty problem in episode 5.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 20
Kudos: 202





	Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm caught up trying to finish my other fic but I finished the second season about three hours ago and I have so many mixed feelings about it all. Like I'm here for some of the growth but I'm also preparing to die on my hill that no way would Diego watch Klaus have a possible seizure and not give a damn. Nope. Not in this house. So here's a ridiculously quick and very unbeta'd short on how I feel it should have gone down after :)

Diego grinds to a halt after speaking with… Grace, he supposes is the best name to call her for now. There’s an iron tang in his mouth, breath hissing out while he’s got rage to expend and nothing to temper it with, a piercing feedback loop created between burning humiliation and…

The stutter…

Reginald, fucking, Hargreeves…

_Overdosing probably._

That's the worst by far because he’s the one that said it.

It’s like the moment he sees their father, no matter how he taunts Luther, he detonates, there’s some form of condition that’s taken root deep in his brain like a tumour, inoperable and evil. It brings out the worst in him, he can recognise this and still be incapable of curbing his reaction. He’s bone weary and yet fired up after letting Reginald do the one thing he’d sworn he wouldn’t. All he wants to do right now is to slink off somewhere for a few hours, lick his wounds (maybe check that the wet, tacky patch at his stomach isn’t a popped stitch) and then he can deal with his family.

But then he sees Luther half stooped over dragging Klaus’ groaning body out of the building like a rag doll, not even hesitating as he climbs the steps. If Diego were the type to self-reflect it might be interesting to understand the fury, unlike anything else he’s felt that night, rise up behind his ribcage at the utter lack of care taken in moving their babbling sibling.

 _At least he bothered_.

It’s always felt like Klaus has forced an entry into every facet of Diego’s life, eked out a space for himself even when he isn’t wanted, when Diego actively seeks out a way to erase him. Klaus seems to be just sitting there, as if the fabric of space and time remains undisturbed by his manipulation, a comparison that would have Five pitching a fucking fit.

The temptation to leave Klaus to his own self-destructive devices is overwhelming, to break the cycle and scrub his liquor sticky fingers away from Diego’s mind. But they’ve always been chained together through disasters and blood like a barbed wire wrapped around his heart, so he warily trudges towards the pair.

“I regret to inform you Luther, but I may be d-dying.” Klaus is rambling, the slight hitch towards the end betraying his attempts at humour.

“Not today Klaus.” Luther gripes back.

“You could give me the kiss of life.”

Luther gags.

“ _Diego_.” Klaus trills at him as he stops beside them, patting the ground invitingly. There’s fireflies dancing in his eyes, and if it weren’t that Diego’s grown up alongside the gangly man he wouldn’t so easily dismiss the little voice in his head that quietly whispers _otherworldly_ in the face of someone who seems hellbent on being the very antithesis of normal. “Coming to join me?”

In lieu of replying he crouches down and fixes a hand around Klaus’ bicep. “You getting up on your own?”

The séance looks up at him for a long moment, and Diego’s about to roll his eyes when he catches sight of the sweat soaking his brother’s hairline. The cold seeping into his fingertips when he feels along the hinge of Klaus’ jaw, his pulse hammering beneath the surface.

“This seems a good a spot as any for a bit of stargazing.” Klaus gestures upwards, affable, _friendly_ , shaking his leg free where Luther’s still awkwardly clutching his ankle. “Want to join me?”

“Nobody wants to lie on the floor Klaus.” Luther sighs, with a lot less venom than he usually employs against their sibling.

Which is more than Diego can say for himself tonight.

_Overdosing probably._

Fucking, shit.

Checking on Klaus should have been one of his first thoughts, and yet it’s wasn’t even in the top ten. He ought to do better than this. Be better by now.

“You got this?” Luther asks, and this time he actually looks like he'd stay if not.

Diego nods.

Klaus hasn’t reached out to touch him when Luther walks away like he’s normally wont to do, and when Diego looks back down he catches sight of the curve of his neck. The indents at the tops of his left shoulder, hidden mostly by his hair and half buttoned shirt, nestled out of casual sight, little half moons left by scratching desperate nails when nobodies paying attention.

“Right, come on, you can’t stay here all night.” Diego gives him a second and catches the sight of something defiant and a little bit hurt in those green eyes.

It’s a kick to the teeth when he thinks about it, the only real thing he’s said to his brother so far has been a one line judgement on his lack of sobriety. That coupled with pushing him away at the familiar anchor of support as Klaus tried to give support in the warmest way he knew how and it’s unsurprising how his brother isn’t feeling the love right now.

Maybe he could explain the inherent embaressment at the loss of control in front of the bastard that carved their childhood to pieces like it was nothing, to have no resistance against Allison's powers even when he's a glutton for punishment every time he gloats and antagonizes. The problem is that Klaus would get it, would make a point of understanding and somehow it feels worse to acknowledge that there's someone out there that might be willing when he's barely aware of how he feels himself.

“Carrying it is then.” He grunts mainly for show as he lifts his brother and pretends that he’s lifted weight with more substance. His hands almost span from one bony curve of Klaus’ hip to the other as he hefts him up in the air to get a better grip around the tops of his thighs.

It doesn’t get the usual flapping of hands or high pitched giggles he remembers… and it kind of stings.

“Was there any need for that.” Klaus says primly, though the corner of his mouth twitches and Diego can see the other him stirring under the wounded mask, all of the contours of his face turning soluble.

“Not really.” He admits, then regretfully lowers Klaus to his feet, and only takes a little bit of pleasure that he doesn’t immediately spring away. Then, because he has to ask when he's now replaying the awful moment as Klaus' eyes glided about, unseeing, unable to find purchase as he lay on the ground, “what was that in there?”

Klaus flinches, minutely, so much so that Diego would never have guessed what it was unless the long line of Klaus’ body wasn’t still pressed tight against his. “Nothing, I’ve had too much to drink remember.”

Diego, for his part, doesn’t flinch. Still hurts a little once again. Thinks about _overdosing probably_. Looks at Klaus staring up at him where he hasn’t moved yet and thinks about what those two words would taste like on his tongue if it had been true and it were the last thing he ever said to him.

“I should have joined you before we came.” He says instead of _sorry_.

For a second it looks like Klaus is going to continue being cold with him.

Then…

“I’m always telling you that everything’s better with a drink.”

And…

Fingers dig into his biceps.

And…

Klaus grins, bright and gleaming.

It shouldn’t surprise Diego that despite everything being so utterly shit, there’s a heavy bar lifted from his chest. Because as much as his brother takes and takes without reprieve most days, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Diego. There’s a temporary illusion of fragile safety that they still within, settle, for now at least.

“That was one hell of a right hook you gave yourself.” Klaus reaches up to touch his face and it’s instinctual to shrug away. He doesn’t. Because feeling like an abstract painting of subdermal bruises and invisible contusions is the only way to surmise what a head fuck it is to see their father again. That Klaus framing him between _Hello_ and _Goodbye_ is the closest he’s felt to being put together since he landed in that alleyway.

Peace has never been theirs to hold, Diego reminds himself, as Klaus slings an only slightly shaking arm around his back, creating a space for himself at Diego’s side where it feels right. There’s only the smallest scrap of mocking when he says, “lets go, Team Zero.”

“Where?” He asks.

“Anywhere.”

So, they just walk. Carefully keeping Klaus securely tucked against him as the exhausted séance hums to himself. It’s dangerous and kind of stupid considering how horrifically they stand out now, asylum escapes aside, not that Klaus has ever managed to blend in in his life. But the one thing that Diego’s quickly learnt that he detests about the sixties is that there isn’t much love for people like him, or Klaus, or Allison-

Who’s been stuck here alone for years.

There’s so much fucking wrong with this whole thing he doesn’t know where to begin really.

“I want to go home.” His brother mutters tiredly in his ear.

Diego doesn’t have a decent enough reply, isn’t sure where to guide them truthfully. It feels wrong taking him back to Elliott’s, tucking him into the same bed that Diego’s only just finished fucking someone else. Like in his head he knows that he could have done better, made another choice, not rapidly fallen off the edge. Which he's going to have to explain at some point.

“Where do you normally stay?”

“Nope. Don't even go there.” Klaus shudders in his arms. “What about yours?”

“Nut house.”

“Bet the beds are still uncomfortable.” Klaus snorts.

“Straitjackets weren’t much better.”

Klaus laughs more than the comment was worth.

That and the vindictive promise of a cool night finally cleanses the last vestiges of Diego’s temper and he strokes the long sweat soaked strands back from Klaus’ face with his free, restless hand. His brother makes an approving sound.

They should probably head back, there’s too much to do and not nearly enough time to work it out, his emotions don’t feel like separate entities tonight and he’s not got it in him to be an adult and untangle them to work out how deeply rooted Klaus is now. He can't imagine a timeline that exists where the séance hasn't carved out a space in his heart somewhere, and that's a conversation to be had at some point. But not now.

He might apologise if he thought it would sink past the shroud of denial and deflection Klaus danced within the confines of. They’ve never been good at apologies, never felt the weight of them on their tongues, never given a home to the word in their mouths, and maybe that’s something that needs to be corrected. _Sorry_ should be able to roll off his tongue without feeling like it’s left a blazing path in it’s wake, least of all to Klaus.

He’s still considering it when they eventually drift back in the early hours, dawn creeping up with a suitably grey undertone and before Diego can say anything of importance, Klaus lifts his head, eyes narrowing at the end of the alley.

“So much red on check always hurts my head.”

Which is the nicest way Klaus could probably herald in the shitshow they find waiting for them inside.

**Author's Note:**

> I spent an hour trying to make popcorn to watch this show and then managed to almost throw it at the tv twice, with Diego's stutter and the _overdosing probably_ . The one good thing is that it's a brilliant reminder of what a shit Reginald Hargreeves is.
> 
> Also we'll just pretend that Klaus was there when they find poor Elliott, because lets be real, he would definitely be an idiot as well and get confused by poor Olga Foroga <3


End file.
